- Dave Lowry
- 12 hours ago
- 4 min read
In Japanese, the most common way to politely acknowledge something you’ve been told is wakarimasu: “I understand.”
However, this is a word you should never use in the dojo. Chances are good that if you’re reading this, you have at least some kind of intellectual leaning.
For you, karate and the other budo aren’t entirely physical. You also want to know about their history and philosophy. You want to grasp them on an intellectual plane, as well as a physical plane.
There’s nothing wrong with this. It should be encouraged. I can’t see much of a future for those who have no curiosity about their art or those who don’t want to learn any more than what they might hear their teacher say in the dojo.
Wait, you might say. There are plenty of professional ball players who know nothing of the lore of their sport. There are expert plumbers who couldn’t tell you anything about the history of plumbing. True, but budo is not a sport, and it’s not a technical profession. It is, at its fullest, an art.
An artist who has no grasp of or appreciation for the past is not much of an artist.
The Problem With Intellectualizing
There is a serious problem, however, that afflicts those who are intellectually inclined, and it comes when they allow their curiosity, their desire to learn academically, to get out of balance with their commitment to physical effort.
Karate, like all budo, is at its core a physical expression of mental volition. It’s realized not through intellectual effort but through action. To forget this, or to minimize it, is to sabotage any effort to master karate as an art.
The matter of intellectualizing over physically internalizing is not new or unique to our age. It’s a danger long recognized. In the Asian martial disciplines, we have a legacy handed down to us from two Confucian scholars. Zhu Xi (1130–1200) described the interplay of knowledge and action.
He noted that having legs doesn’t allow a person to see, nor does having eyes allow one to walk. Too, knowledge of Something is insufficient for mastering it.
One of Zhu Xi’s descendants, Wang Yang-Ming (1472–1529), took this idea further. He postulated that knowing and not being able to actualize that knowing in doing is proof one does not really know at all. “To know and not to act is not yet to know,” Zhu wrote.
Wang’s notion should lead to some contemplation, especially for martial artists. If I know what is right, what is moral, what is good, but I do not act on these, then I do not really understand them at all, according to Wang.
If we narrow this down to the realm of the dojo, we see that having an intellectual grasp of a front kick is one thing. Being able to do that kick competently is, of course, quite another.
“Mouth Warriors” vs. Sincere Students
If you’ve been in budo very long, you know a few kuchi bushi, “mouth warriors,” whose lectures and opinions would have you think they're fifth-dan experts at least. These types are certainly examples of those who know but can’t do.
However, there are also would-be budoka who don’t want to impress others, who aren’t interested in pontificating and sharing their opinions. They are simply people who really want to understand what they're doing. They are sincere. And so they pose questions:
Why do we lift the knee so high when we kick?
How important is the snap back?
How can I make a high kick as powerful as a low one?
The problem isn’t the questions they pose. The problem is they confuse intellectually grasping concepts with the physical ability to realize those concepts. They get things badly out of balance.
The student who relies too heavily on his intellectual grasp of karate is apt to believe he’s got it. Unless he can translate that grasp into action, however, he does not. The gap between knowing and doing is apt to become wider unless he addresses this issue — or unless a teacher is there to guide him to a more balanced study.
“Do You Understand?”
“Do you understand?” is a question a teacher will often ask a student after having given an explanation. I can remember answering this in the affirmative once. “Yes, I understand,” I said. Wakarimasu.
“OK,” my teacher said. “Do it.”
I could not. My mind knew it, but my body didn't. After trying a couple of times — and failing badly — I felt as stupid as I ever had in the dojo. And that’s saying something.
“You understand it up here,” my sensei told me, popping his forefinger against my forehead. “Down here …” — he poked my belly and shook his head.
This is why, when discussions of learning come up, one often hears the expression karada de oboeru, “learning with the body.” When you've done something — a kata or a technique — a few times, you'll have some understanding of it. When you've put your body through it a few thousand times, you’ll have a real understanding.
I don't know that I have a real understanding of anything in karate in the sense of the word my sensei was indicating. There’s still a long way to go. I have learned, however, that saying “I understand” when my teacher asks is a bad idea.
